Inspiration
by Crazee Canadia
Summary: He was a frustrated author, equipped with a pen and paper, yet no story to write. oOo Onesided WaluigiXLuigi. If you don't like the pairing, then don't read or comment. Written for bluebruise's birthday! oOo


****Warnings, Onesided!WaluigiXLuigi, Author!Waluigi and... Luigi! Don't like those ideas, don't read or comment please. ****

* * *

He was a frustrated author, equipped with a pen and paper, yet no story to write.

Many times he had been able to sit down at his desk, writing late into the night and staying up until the dreadful hours of the morning just jotting down whatever he could think of, and then getting a whole new idea on how to continue or for a new story.

Many days he would keep himself locked in his house, letting himself become malnourished from his lack of eating and ignored the need for sleep. He would write until he would black out, landing on the floor with his pen still in his fingers.

Sure, it was unhealthy, as his doctors had fussed at him over and over and over again to stop ignoring what his body needed for his life's sake, but he couldn't help himself. He _had_ to write. He _needed_ to write.

Sometimes, he'd send his works to be published, under his pen name so no one in the town would come tearing his door down and interrupting his work. From the sales of his biggest novels and collections of short stories, you could say that his lack of health never interfered with his writing skill.

Yet, now, he could not even think of how to form a sentence.

His tired eyes widened with fright, his mouth grew dry from where he began to swallow in nervousness, his hands were shaking as they wanted to make letters on the paper.

But he could not, for the life of him, think of anything to write about.

He tried to think, what genre could he focus on? He had covered every single one, from fantasy to sci-fi. He tried to think about what object he could base a story on, but he had used everything from a tissue to the sun. He tried to think of characters, but he had already used anime-inspired personalities to gary-sues and mary-stus. Maybe it was time to write a biography of someone, but he'd already written so many of those he was sure that there was no one else left to write about.

He closed his eyes, sighing and slamming his head on the desk, "Damn it…" he whispered, "…why can't I think of a damn thing?"

He took a couple of hours to sleep in that position, hoping that he could dream of something to write about. Still, nothing came to him, even though the dream he remembered having was an excellent story idea, it was too similar to another story he had written a while back.

A glance out the window was all he needed to decide that it would be best to walk away for a while. Outside, he could see that the trees were growing their leaves back and some birds were starting to return from their trip south.

* * *

Blue irises, glossy and darting around, pastel lips tightly pressed together in frustration, slim, dark eyebrows furrowing together in irritation, cheeks rosy red from the cool air that surrounded him now that the sun had sank behind the large collection of buildings, and a full mustache that was a deep chocolate color made a certain man stand out amongst the rest of the people on the street. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, a green hat hid his hair, and he kept on muttering something to himself as he slightly swayed back and forth in his spot.

He became the center of attention for the author, sitting on a park bench with his long legs stretched out in front of him. His tired eyes widened, wondering if this man had always been here or had just recently arrived. Many questions soon flew into his mind-what was his name? Where was he from? Did he know any special languages? Was he married or single? Was he a younger or older brother? What did he like? Did he know that he was attractive?

Silently, he pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from his coat pocket, quickly jotting down the features of the man and some guesses as to what his age, marital status, race, and likes were. He kept glancing up; the man was still standing there every time.

He looked at him more and more, soon coming to the conclusion that this man was starting to strum his heart strings. He felt his cheeks warm up and he felt his heart start to beat harder and harder.

Then, he leaned back and smiled.

He was inspired again.

* * *

"'_Samantha, I cannot see you anymore.'"_

"_The woman spun around from her vanity, 'What?'_

"'_I said that I cannot see you anymore,' Martin swallowed nervously, "I'm… infatuated with someone else._

"'_Someone else? __**Someone else?**__" Samantha slowly stood up, the volume of her voice raising as she did, "'Who in the hell do you love more than you love me, you bloody goat?!' _

"'_That, my dear, is something I do not wish to share with you. I know that you're the one that gossips the most out of your clique, and I know that when you tell your friends the news will spread like wildfire and get around to my brother.'_

"'_You mean to tell me you don't want your brother to know, yet you have the nerve to stand there and tell __**me**__ that you no longer want to court me?'_

"'_I didn't want to leave town without letting you know why I was leaving.'_

"'_Oh, what nerve!" The woman's hands went into the air, "I should spit at you! Leaving me for that saucy Deanna, I bet! The whore!' _

"'_No, Samantha, it is no woman that I leave you for.'_

_Samantha's eyes grew in size, 'You mean you leave me for a man?'_

"'_Si, a man.'"_

He leaned back and held the paper up to the light, tapping his pen against his bottom lip as he reread what he wrote. He had to admit, he wasn't one to write soap opera, soppy romance stories like this one, but for some reason the man he admired during his outing gave him this very idea.

He used that man as a basis for his main character, as well as using a couple of his friends for inspiration for other characters. He also did something he swore he'd never do-include himself in the story as a secondary character. Though he regretted it, his self-insert made the story flow quite well.

He was proud of himself, yes, very proud. The more he thought about his plot, the more excited he became to finish the story, the later he stayed up writing, the longer he made himself do without food.

* * *

"_Martin, don't worry about your brother! What he thinks should not plague your life!"_

"_I can't, Charles! I just can't! All my life, my brother has always been before me, and all my life I have wanted to impress him! I can't just ignore his bad talk, I just can't!"_

He stared at the last thing he wrote before he crashed out, rubbing his head from where the carpet had left pressure marks in his face. He grabbed his pen, ready to continue, before the sound of his stomach wailing made him jump.

His hunger pangs overpowered his need to write. He slammed his pen down, stumbling away from the desk to shower so he could be presentable in public. There was _no way_ he was going to cook at home today.

* * *

"Oh my gosh, you just came back from China, huh?"

He glanced up at the red-headed waitress standing next to him, her bright and cheery eyes laughing as she looked down at a friend she hadn't seen in a while, "I'm surprised you're even here, Waluigi! Did you finally lose the urge to write?"

"Actually, Daisy, I did lose my creativity a while back, but I'm working on something now." Waluigi calmly replied, "I just can't write with my stomach eating my backbone, though."

Daisy scoffed, "I'm surprised you still have a spine." She glanced to the side as the door to the diner opened, ringing the bell that hung above it, "Well, lookie who else has arrived!"

Waluigi looked in the same direction, eyes widening and muscles tensing up as he quickly recognized the man. The man who inspired his story.

When he made eye contact with the man, he immediately wanted to start writing something other than what he had currently been working on.

* * *

Luigi was the man's name. He overheard Daisy calling him that, so he assumed that was his name.

That was the only thing Waluigi stuck around to learn about. As soon as he laid eyes on the man again, he quickly asked Daisy to make his order to go because he was once again too inspired to wait. He probably disappointed her by not staying long, which he gathered from the way she handed him a greasy lunch bag with a sigh, but he couldn't help it. He _needed_ to get his new ideas onto paper.

As soon as he made it to his desk, he brushed his other project to the side, finding his blank notepad and a fresh pen before he spent the next three hours alternating between eating and writing.

When he hit the four hour mark he was done, holding up his papers with a satisfied smile and then an annoyed grimace when he noticed small grease stains from his food on the corners of his papers. He ran his thumbs up the side as he reread what he wrote;

"_A silent glance, two pairs of eyes locking onto each other, started everything that would follow. Tight fitting suits hindered the breathing of both, one because he immediately became excited, the other out of exhaustion from chasing a silk-wrapped cat around the royal revelry._

"'_Having fun chasing that girl, are we?' One laughs, partially at the other's foolishness of chasing._

"'_No, actually, I am not. That girl has more energy than a hunting dog after a hare.'"_

It was here that Waluigi began to catch spelling errors and grammar mistakes. He grumbled, grabbing the nearby white-out and marking over every mistake he saw before writing over the dried ink with his pen. He then continued to skim his writing, the smile on his face growing larger and larger as he read how his characters went from having a glass of wine and discussing how harsh women could be on men to leaving together in a taxi cab, laughing and leaning on each other like they were drunken brothers.

Then came the romantic encounter between the two, and the regret of the morning after. Waluigi began to frown as he finished reading his work, somewhat disappointed with how he ended it. Yet, at the same time, he didn't want to change anything about it, for he felt that he would have changed the entire feel of this work to something he didn't want the reader to feel.

He shrugged the feeling off, paper clipped his work, and decided to get back to his other story for a little while.

* * *

After two months, Waluigi had finally pulled together his novel, as well as a collection of short stories that he was inspired to write every time he dared venture out into the public.

Every single short story involved that Luigi in some way.

He didn't know why, but there was just _something_ about that man that made Waluigi weak, flustered, and then motivated to write about how the man made him feel. Sometimes he'd write about how the man's beauty-how it affected him so-others he'd write about ways he dreamed about getting to know him better, and the rest he wrote about having won his heart.

He then got in contact with his publisher, who made him agree to letting one of their editors come by his apartment and review his work in person. As much as he hated to let them, he figured it'd be best, since he wasn't one who typed his stories and was able to send them over email.

The day the editor was supposed to come by, Waluigi found himself waiting anxiously at his desk, scribbling away at a notepad, putting his nervous and messy thoughts into decently presentable literature.

"_My heart still races just by merely thinking of that man. It's like love at first sight, over and over again, no matter if I see him in my dreams or in reality. Yet, he inspires me so, more than anyone else has. If I were to describe this feeling with one word, it would be extreme to say that it would be 'love,' I barely even know the man other than his name and his appearance. I guess lust could be more of the word, but I do not wish for his body-no, I wish to see that man smile more. I wish to see that man happy. I wish to be there when he is frustrated, such as he was the day I first saw him. I do not know how to sum these feelings up with a word I feel comfortable using. I just wish that someday I'll be able to talk to him, tell him what he has done for me, and hope that he doesn't see me as a 'creep.'"_

Three sharp knocks at his door interrupted him. Waluigi sighed as he put his pen down, stood up from his chair with an airy groan, and slowly made his way to the door. He quickly took a look through the peep hole, eyes widening at the man he saw on the other side before yanking the door open in excitement.

"Hello, I assume you're Waluigi?" Luigi asked, fingers tapping against a suitcase he had leaning against his side.

Said man opened and closed his mouth, similar to a dumb fish floating and waiting to be fed. After receiving a dumbfounded look from Luigi, he closed his mouth and nodded his head, "Oui, that is me. I-I assume the publisher sent you?"

"Yes, yes they have." Luigi pushed past, his suitcase rolling in behind him, "And since you said you have a novel and a few short stories, you'll have to play hotel while I'm here."

"Oh, certainly, anything for someone like you, Mister…" Waluigi bit his tongue, pretending that he did not know Luigi's name.

"Oh, Luigi. Luigi Vargassi." He held out his hand, "I'm sorry for not introducing myself, I just wanted to get in here and get to business."

"Ah…p-prompt guy, aren't you?" Waluigi gingerly took his hand, the following handshake loose and messy. Luigi frowned in distaste as Waluigi inwardly slapped himself for being so stupid. "S-so, uh, everything is on that table over there when you're ready to, um, get to reviewing."

Luigi narrowed his eyes, "Say, I've seen you around town before. I thought that you were the guy that was always locked up in his apartment all the time?"

"I-I am! Just, lately, I've had to leave a lot to get inspiration."

"Uh huh."

* * *

Waluigi couldn't help but pace back and forth nervously the entire time Luigi spent reading his stories.

The shorter Italian looked intimidating as he read, occasionally squinting as he circled something in red pen or leaning back with widening eyes (that was probably during the more steamy parts of his story).

It took his three days to get through the novel, which he calmly handed back to Waluigi and said, "This is very good. The characters make me think of actual people that I know. I can also relate to the main character a lot, which is excellent."

Waluigi resisted the urge to tell him that the he was the inspiration for the main character.

"You can revise that while I go over your short stories." Luigi smiled, sending a delightful chill down Waluigi's spine.

The next two days consisted of even more nervous pacing. His novel revisions completed, he began focusing on revising his short stories-which, surprisingly, had very few red markings on them. Maybe Waluigi had impressed Luigi with his short stories, or maybe the man was a little disturbed by the fact that the reoccurring character in the stories had such a resemblance to him.

After everything had been revised, Luigi stood at Waluigi's door, bags packed and a cheerful smile on his face, "I enjoyed working with you, Waluigi," he began, "Hopefully they'll let me come out here and revise with you again sometime."

"Oh, that could be soon, I'm always writing." Waluigi chuckled, "Anyway, do you have everything?"

Luigi waved the folder containing the stories around, "Yes, I do. I'll type these up for you back at my office, since you said you hate typing."

"Merci!" Waluigi clapped his hands, "You be safe on your way back, now!"

"Of course, of course," Luigi threw his hand behind him before making his way down the hall, "Good-bye!"

It was temping to watch him leave, but Waluigi had something else calling for him at that moment-a new story idea.

He sat down at his desk, reaching for a blank sheet of paper before noticing a paper out of the corner of his eye-completely filled and decorated with a few red markings. Waluigi snatched it up, already making his way to the door, thinking that it was a paper from one of his stories that Luigi accidentally left behind before glancing over it. He froze mid-walk, paling as he realized what this was.

It was his rambling, the very one that he was writing the day when Luigi first came in. He nervously read every single red comment that sat in the margins of the page, wondering how in the world Luigi even found this one.

At the bottom, Luigi circled his final comment with a blue pen, _"Wow, you really know how to put your messy thoughts into words. So, there's a guy who inspired all of this writing, huh? I'd like to meet him someday!"_

Waluigi silently lowered his arm, letting the paper slide from his fingers and glide across the wooden floor. He stared at the wall, taking a deep breath before whispering, "Look in the mirror. You'll meet him there."

* * *

****To my lovely bluebruise, LOVE ME FOR THIS WOMAN. I WORKED ON THIS FOR FIVE HOURS AND FINISHED TEN MINUTES BEFORE MY BEDTIME!**

**To everyone else: This was written as a (belated) birthday gift to my wonderful bluebruise. I spent all day going, "How do I get around this writer's block?!" and then I was all "OMFG AUTHOR!WALLY." and that seemed to do the trick. I was kinda sad how I just got lazy at the end, though, the pacing seems a little off, but I also feel like it's fine… (maybe it's a good idea to invest in a beta reader?).**

**Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed what I lazed around on all afternoon instead of doing math homework! (It's not due until Wednesday so why bother on a weekend?)**


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